Every year since I've been blogging (which was way before Celery and the City), I have tried to do a birthday post. And no, it's not quite my birthday so you can spare me the lukewarm sentiments. And no, I don't do this because I love birthdays, but because I think it's healthy to reflect on your life every once in a while.

Like, once a year. On your birthday. So this isn't really for you, it's for me. But, since you're here, you can stay.

I kicked off last year by getting over my flying paranoia, hopping on a plane for the first time in a decade, and heading to California. Got my first tattoo, which reads Delicious Ambiguity, a line from a Gilda Radner quote that has been my favorite since childhood:

"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity."

Little did I know how fitting that would be for my life in the coming months.

A day after I returned from my missed flight and overnight stay at LAX filled with germs, misery, exhaustion, and food truck tacos, I saw a specialist who essentially told me that I have a jacked up uterus and can't have kids. That was sort of a condensed soup version, but you can read the whole saga here.

After a lot of tears and confusion and shock, I decided that I'd had enough of that; and I forced myself to let go of childhood assumptions involving six boys and a girl and accept reality. You can read more about that process in this post: Thoughts On Infertility That Might Piss You Off and I Can’t Have Kids, Now What?

I don't want to say I took off toward the rainbow in search of my silver lining because those of you who know me wouldn't believe that. What I actually did was start to really assess my life, dreams, goals to find an appreciation for the things I AM able to do currently and in the future because I don't have kids.

I love the way my hair falls around my face, giving the appearance of an unkempt goatee.

And you know what I discovered on that little excursion into the world of my reality? I work for myself and essentially wear pajamas for 97% of the time. I don't have to go to bed or wake up at a certain time or sit in a cube and be micromanaged. If I wanted to skip town tomorrow, I could. Of course the whole flying thing gets in my way, but whatever.

If I want to spend my entire day eating ice cream and watching reruns of The Office, I can, without having to tend to a small human. Albeit, I can't do that because I technically can't have ice cream anymore, but it's comforting to know that I could. If I want to write all day at a coffee shop —I do. If I want to start another creative venture, I can. It's all pretty spectacular.

I say all that to say that I've come to a place of peace. Peace with my reality. And after peace comes contentment. And with contentment comes happiness. I have time to do all the things in life that I love - traveling, writing, photography, blogging, helping others.... what more could I want? Well, to be able to eat dairy again, if you're granting birthday wishes.

On the health front, I've made some progress. During my third year of this health mess, I started working with Dr. Kalish at the Kalish Wellness Institute last June. After my initial testing, he said I was in the bottom 5% of patients he'd treated — not the most optimistic prognosis. But it's ok, as previously mentioned, I'm not an entirely optimistic individual. I much prefer the truth.

We've gotten to the bottom of some issues, gotten a more accurate diagnosis -(SIBO, stage 4 Adrenal Fatigue, detox and methylation issues, liver insufficiency) and started treating those things one at a time. Am I all better? Nope. In fact, I spent about three months in bed last winter while going through a treatment.

But the key word is progress and as long as you're making some, you're doing well. And speaking of doing well, I also wrote about the struggles of suffering with invisible illness and how isolating it is, if any of you happen to be dealing with the same thing.

Another thing that happened last year was the start of this blog. Uh, the one you're reading right now, probably by accident. I greatly missed blogging in my four year hiatus—the relationships you build with people all over the world who are experiencing similar life "things." I've been able to help them, and they have helped me. And that's a beautiful thing.

And finally, I've learned the art of letting go. Letting go of childhood dreams and ideals and expectations. Surrendering to the unknowingness of life. Embracing the friendships and people who really mean something to you— the ones who give a damn —and letting go of ones who don't. Remembering that just as life is always changing —-so are we, and inevitably, relationships will change and that's ok.

And knowing how fortunate I am to have a few of those people in my life who remain a constant amid the change.

It was a good year.

Year Thirty-Three: Finding The Freaking Silver Lining

LET’S BE SOCIAL